by Mary Amato
Orville stopped hopping. He looked so sad I wanted to cheer him up. Then I wondered, what besides candy always cheers Orville up? My brain started storming, and from a tornado of thoughts, one image came flying out: a puppy. “How about something with puppies?” I suggested. “Puppies cheer you up.”
“Puppies!” Orville started hopping again. “We can borrow Jonathan Kemp’s puppy and take it door-to-door! We can charge people one dollar to pet the puppy, and it won’t cost us anything.”
I made Orville hop over to the phone and call Jonathan Kemp to see if we could borrow his puppy.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t like making phone calls. I can never think of what to say because I’m always thinking about what the other person is going to say. Orville has it easy. He just doesn’t think.
While he made the call, we watched his face. It went from hopeful to hopeless in three seconds. “Jonathan’s mom said no,” he said after he hung up. “She lives with a puppy and she’s still grumpy. That’s just not right.”
“We can’t give up!” Amelia cried. “Let’s keep our brains storming. What else cheers people up?”
Orville whirled around as if the storm in his brain had turned into a hurricane. “I got one!” He stopped. “Pirates always cheer themselves up by singing songs.”
“I love pirates!” Amelia said. She pulled a pirate hat out of her backpack and put it on.
Now it was my turn to be a hurricane of ideas. “We could go door-to-door selling songs! Our neighbors will gladly empty their pockets to have their day brightened with the joy of music! I can play my tuba!”
“I can be the percussionist.” Amelia grabbed the two pot lids and smashed them. CLASH.
“Hip hip, hooray!” Orville cried. We all whirled around the room, and then we crashed into each other like lightning bolts and fell down. “But wait!” Orville said. “I don’t have an instrument yet. What should I do?”
“You can be the singer,” I suggested. “I happen to know that you can make up songs on the spot.”
Orville grinned and sang,
This was going to be great.
To be more efficient with our time, we split into groups. Orville and I worked on advertising in the den. Amelia disappeared into the kitchen to create a “portable percussion outfit.”
We made a big poster advertising our service, but then we realized that it would be hard to carry around.
“I could wear it,” Orville suggested.
“That idea gives me an idea.” I made another poster. Then I attached strips of cardboard to join the two signs together and slipped the whole thing over Orville’s head. He looked fabulous.
Mom walked in. “You’ve made a sandwich board,” she said.
“What?”
“That’s what it’s called when you have two advertisements back-to-back like that.”
“I get it,” I said. “The posters are two slices of bread, and Orville is the ham!”
“Orville certainly is a ham,” Mom admitted.
“Rats! Somebody already invented it?” Orville asked.
“Well, I think you’re the first to invent a sandwich board to sell songs,” Amelia said.
We turned and saw her in the doorway. And what a vision she was.
Over her shorts and T-shirt, she was wearing a skirt made of spatulas and slotted spoons. She had pot lids strapped to her knees and another on her head like a beret. In her right hand she had a large wooden spoon, and in the other she held a plastic mixing bowl turned upside down. In addition to all that, she was wearing an eye patch and had her left arm in a sling. “Ready?” she asked, and banged the lids on her knees together.
“Wow,” Mom said.
“Thank you for letting me borrow your kitchen utensils. I will take good care of them.” She adjusted the patch over her eye. “The eye patch and the sling are mine. If people think I’ve been in an accident, they might give us more money.”
“Brilliant!” I exclaimed.
“Maybe you should put some blood all over you,” Orville suggested.
Mom cut us short. “You don’t want to scare people. I think you’re good to go just as you are.”
“Wait,” Amelia said. She struggled to put her backpack on. “You never know when you might need something. Besides, I feel naked without it.”
I hoisted up my tuba. Orville adjusted his sandwich board. And off we went.
Mom called out: “Remember, you’re only allowed to go to the houses of people we know.”
Lucky for us we’re famous. We know everybody on our block, and everybody knows us. We decided to see our neighbors Dan and Karen Doorley first. They just had a new baby who cries all the time. They could definitely use a cheering-up song.
We walked to the Doorleys’, or rather we clanged. It was hard for any of us to walk normally. The burning heat marched right along with us. It was so hot you wouldn’t even need a toaster to make toast.
We knocked, and Dan peeked through the little window at the top of the door. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He whispered something, but we couldn’t hear him.
Orville spun around so that Dan could read the back of his sign.
Dan’s eyes got really big, and he made some kind of hand motion. He was definitely excited.
“What did he say?” Orville asked.
“I think he’s telling us it’s too hot to open the door, so we should play extra loud,” Amelia said. “Ready? Hit it!” She banged her knees together to give us a beat.
I honked out a tune on my tuba.
At the top of his lungs, Orville sang,
I honked out a big tada sound at the end, and Amelia hit the pot lid on her head with the wooden spoon.
You could tell that Dan had never experienced the joy of having musicians come to cheer him up right at his door. He was in shock.
There was one moment of silence. And then behind him we heard a very loud WAAAAAAAAAAA!
“I think we woke the baby,” I whispered. I could tell by the way Dan’s teeth were clenched that this was not a good thing.
“Do you think we should ask him for a dollar?” Orville whispered.
“I think we should run before he calls the police,” Amelia whispered back.
“Sorry!” we said. And then we ran.
Our other neighbor’s mean dog howled behind his fence.
“That’s Doom,” Orville explained as we huffed and puffed down the street. “The Dog of Death.”
“I think Doom likes our music,” Amelia said.
“If our only fan is Doom,” I said, “we’re doomed!”
We ran as fast as three kids wearing a tuba, sandwich sign, and cooking supplies can run on the hottest day of the year.
THREE
Double Trouble
“I wish this heat would go away,” Orville cried, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Wait.” I felt a saying coming on. “Weather should be spelled whether,” I said, “because you’re stuck with whatever weather you’ve got, whether you like it or not.”
“So true,” Amelia said.
I led the way toward the Overhosers’ house. Mrs. Overhoser was out gardening, as usual.
“Not the Overhosers!” Orville whispered. “They’re mean and crabby!”
“Exactly. They need us.”
We marched up the path.
“Don’t be stepping on my pansies!” she yelled.
“Why would we step on her pantsies?” Orville whispered.
“Not pantsies. Pansies,” Amelia explained. “It’s a kind of flower.”
I nudged Orville. “Tell her why we’re here.”
Orville twirled around so that she could read the back of his sign. “We’re here to offer you a song.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she said, adding a dandelion to a big pile of weeds.
“It only costs one dollar,” Amelia added. “Guaranteed to cheer you up.”
“Just a minute,” she said, and left.
; The sweaty singing sandwich started to panic. “Is she going to call the police?”
She came back with a dollar. “Do you know the song ‘Wild Blue Flower’?” she asked.
We shook our heads.
“How about ‘Red Is My Rose’?” she asked.
“Sorry,” Orville replied.
I pointed to the flowers lining the walkway. “You obviously love pansies, Mrs. Overhoser. My talented brother will make up a beautiful song about pansies just for you. Won’t you, Orville?”
Orville nodded. “For a dollar, I’ll do just about anything.”
Amelia clinked her spatulas, I tooted out a few notes on my tuba, and Doom howled along in the distance. Then Orville began to sing:
Mrs. Overhoser gasped.
Amelia and I looked at Orville.
“Sorry, it just came out.” He shrugged. “Sometimes rhymes seem to have a mind of their own.”
Mrs. Overhoser’s eyes began to get watery, and I don’t think it was because of allergies.
“I’ll cheer you up.” Orville tried to bend down to pick her a flower, but his sandwich board got in the way and he fell . . . flattening a whole row of pansies.
Poor Mrs. Overhoser sat in the grass, stunned with sadness.
We gave her the dollar back and left.
“I don’t think we exactly cheered her up,” Amelia said.
“Look, there’s Mr. Lawson washing his car.” I pointed. “Let’s try singing something happy to him about cars,” I suggested. “That seems safe.”
“Got it!” Orville said.
To get to Mr. Lawson’s house, we had to pass Goliath’s house, and there was Goliath sitting on his front steps, tossing a football from one hand to another.
“Goliath is going to make fun of us,” I whispered. “Pretend you don’t see him. Just keep walking and don’t pay any attention.”
Every muscle in my body was preparing for the firing of insults from Goliath’s mouth.
“Hi, Goliath,” Amelia said as we approached his house.
“Hi,” he replied.
“We’re selling songs,” she said.
I knew what was coming next. He was going to tell us how lame it was to try selling songs.
“I would like to buy a song,” Goliath said. “But I don’t have any money. Would you take this in return?” He held out his football.
Orville and I couldn’t believe our ears.
“Love makes you do crazy things,” Orville whispered to me.
“We couldn’t possibly take your football,” Amelia said. “If you stay outside, you can enjoy our songs for free. We’re really loud.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Let’s go, boys,” Amelia said.
Stunned, we walked on.
Amelia sighed. “Poor Goliath. He wouldn’t be so miserable if he didn’t love me so much.”
We walked up to the Lawsons’ house.
“What do we have here?” Mr. Lawson said, turning off his hose.
Orville turned around to show off our sign. “A dollar for a song.”
“That sounds like a great deal,” our neighbor said. “Especially since you found my missing glove.” He took off his work gloves and pulled a crisp one-dollar bill out of his wallet.
Ah, that dollar was like a cool breeze refreshing our weary spirits.
“We will play you a song about your car,” Orville said.
“Honey, come and hear this!” Mr. Lawson called out. His wife came out with a frying pan.
As soon as we started playing, Doom wailed along. He really did seem to love our music.
Orville started singing:
I didn’t wait to see if Orville had a second verse.
“Sorry about that,” I said, and handed back the beautiful crisp dollar bill.
Mrs. Lawson turned to Mr. Lawson and waved her frying pan at him. “Do you love that stinking car more than me, Edward?”
“Of course not, sweetie!” Mr. Lawson said. “Don’t listen to that crazy boy.”
“Yes,” Amelia said. “Don’t listen to him.”
“I’m completely bonkers!” Orville stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and flapped like a dodo bird.
“Come along, crazy cousin.” Amelia pulled Orville back toward our house.
“Well, I have learned something,” he said after we were out of earshot. “I have learned that songwriting is a dangerous business. Rhymes get me in trouble.”
“Double trouble,” I said. “Look who’s coming after us.”
Doom had jumped his fence and was heading straight for us.
“Run!” I yelled at Orville.
We ran. Again.
We jumped over hedges and slid between parked cars and cut through a big pile of mulch and finally made it home, huffing and puffing. We ran inside and closed the door.
Then we realized something terrible.
Amelia wasn’t with us!
Orville covered his eyes. “I can’t look! Tell me, Wilbur. Does she have any arms or legs left?”
I peered out the front door. Amelia was standing right where we’d left her. Doom was snuggled in close to her, wagging his tail.
“She’s petting him!” I yelped.
Orville looked.
From his front steps, Goliath was staring, too.
Nobody in the history of the neighborhood had ever been brave enough to pet Doom.
Amelia led Doom back to his house. A few minutes later, she was back.
“Doom really does love our music,” Amelia said.
“Did you try selling him a song?” Orville asked.
“No. But his owner gave me a dollar for bringing him back.” Amelia grinned and held up a crisp dollar bill.
FOUR
Did You Say, “Croak”?
Mom walked in. “You boys are filthy! Don’t take another step inside this house.”
“It’s not our fault,” Orville protested, taking off his sandwich board.
“Whose fault is it?”
Orville sighed. “It’s a messy world, Mom. We just happen to live in it.”
“Hose off outside,” she suggested, which wasn’t a bad idea.
We took off all our song-business gear and turned on the hose.
“Let’s take a break and teach Amelia one of our famous Riot Brother Water Games,” I said. “How about Croak-and-Soak?”
“Do I like it?” Orville asked.
“You love it, Orville. You invented it! Orville is great at inventing games,” I explained to Amelia, “but not so great at remembering them.”
I reviewed the rules. When I explained that she and Orville would get to be the “croakers” and that croakers are frogs, she exclaimed, “I’ve got a frog hat!”
Orville turned to me. “It’s too bad that Amelia only has one head because she sure does have a lot of hats.”
I had to agree.
As soon as she put it on I stood in the center of the yard with my eyes closed, holding the hose. Orville and Amelia ran around the yard, croaking like frogs. Every time one of them croaked, I tried to spray the person with the hose without looking. You can tell that you’ve hit the target if the croak turns into a scream.
We took turns croaking and soaking until we were delightfully drippy.
“Well, I’m as clean as Mr. Lawson’s car now,” Orville said.
That gave me a great idea. “Let’s have a car wash. People will pay us to clean their cars.”
“It’s a great idea,” Amelia said.
Orville shook his head. “But according to Riot Brother Rule Number Five, you can’t change your mission in the middle of the day.”
“Our mission is to have fun at a water park. It doesn’t matter how we earn the money to get there,” I explained.
“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Amelia said.
We made another sandwich board sign advertising our car wash and put it in front of our house.
“Maybe we should invent a Riot Brother Car Washing Machine to make it more f
un,” I said.
“Let’s invent a robot that walks around the car and washes it,” Orville suggested.
“How about a robot dressed like a frog that says ribbit?” Amelia said. She got out her notebook and began sketching. “We could call it the Ribbot.”
“Guys,” Orville exclaimed, “I think we make a great team!”
FIVE
It’s Raining! It’s Pouring!
What do you do if you don’t have time to build a robot from scratch? You turn Orville into one. We started with swim trunks and Amelia’s aviator goggles. Then we added flippers on his feet, rubber gloves on his hands, and—best of all—a lawn sprinkler strapped to a bicycle helmet, strapped to his head.
“Wait behind the fence,” I said. “As soon as a car arrives, I’ll say ready. That will be our code word. When you hear ready, turn on your sprinkler, come out, say ribbit in a robot voice, and start scrubbing.”
“Ribbit,” the robot said, picking up a bucket of water and sponges. “I’ll be ready for ready. But I can’t see very well with these goggles.”
“It’s okay,” Amelia said. “Just give the car a good soak.”
Orville hid behind the fence, and Amelia and I waited by the curb for customers.
Margaret came over to see what was going on. Goliath watched from afar.
Finally, a car drove up. It was Jonathan Kemp’s mom, with Jonathan and Tiffany in the back.
“Hello, Wilbur,” Mrs. Kemp said as they hopped out of their car. “Are you trying to earn a little extra money?”
“Actually, we’re trying to earn a lot of extra money. Would you like our amazing robot to wash your car?”
“A robot? Cool!” Jonathan said.
“That sounds great,” she said, pulling out a dollar. “Are you ready for a customer?”
Sometimes it does not pay to have big ears. Orville heard Mrs. Kemp say ready, so he came charging out with the sprinkler on his head going at full blast. Great twirly streams of water were spurting out.
“Orville!” I cried, but he was saying ribbit so loudly he couldn’t hear. He was obviously having trouble seeing, too, because he just started throwing sponges. Mrs. Kemp screamed. A sponge bounced off her arm; another bounced off the top of her head.
